Lost and Found
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Summary: Realization comes slow and gradual to Athos as he finds what has been missing. This is an entry for the July/August Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Missing".


Lost and Found

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: Realization comes slow and gradual to Athos as he finds what has been missing. This is an entry for the July/August Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Missing".

* * *

"If you don't get lost, there's a chance you may never be found." – Anonymous

* * *

It was here that he could think.

Out here beneath the arches, away from the clatter, the noise, the comradery. Solitary; aloneness - is where he felt most comfortable … most at ease. Here in this space is where he needed to think and consider.

Recently Captain Treville had taken to approaching him with brief conversations about his future. He did this in odd unguarded moments, to be certain he would not evade or avoid him. Hinting to him about leadership, his talents; abilities … what it would mean to him, for France and his King that he take more of a role with regard to the Musketeers.

It was inevitable he supposed. Treville had rescued him from a dark place and had put much into him. He owed the man his life; his loyalty; his respect … but this? Observing the regiment closely from his solitary place, he watched as men cloistered in the yard – practiced on the range; readying for duty – he savored this way of life, but knew to lead these men was not for him.

Who would follow a man, broken and unrecognizable to himself? Who? What must Treville be thinking?

Above the fray and his troubling thoughts, he could hear d'Artagnan's laughter as Porthos lifted him above his head in horseplay disguised as hand to hand combat. The joyful sound reached his ear and for an instant some invisible cloak of warmth lay affectionately about his shoulders and he smiled.

Leaning against stone, he contemplated on the garrison and its men. Yes, this was his life. He was no longer of the noble class; no longer the Comte de la Fere. He was no longer Olivier. Captain Treville had saved him from a slow, self-inflicted death and he was grateful. He was grateful that now he was Athos of the King's Musketeers.

But to lead these men as Treville's second was not possible. He did not have it in him.

As something in him was missing … lacking maybe or perhaps undiscovered. He was never quite sure and thought about the why and what of it often; and more so now.

Always, since he could remember this was what he felt … that a piece of him was lost; unattainable. Who was he? What heights could he reach if only he could find himself? Searching for this missing piece had become a mission of his.

As a child he had gone looking for himself in his parents, but soon found that his shy and reticent nature left them, to some degree, baffled and disappointed in his introverted ways. Unsure how to talk to him; peak his interests; engage his long silences, they instead gave him silence in return.

"Why are you always judging me?" his mother would ask; almost frantic during their infrequent family visits. His watchful gaze seemed to bring her discomfort, so as time passed he learned to bow his head and hide his face behind falling hair or a well place hat … endeavoring to ease her distress.

"One day Olivier this will be all yours", his father would explain with measuring looks and sweeping gestures. "Your exemplary example is warranted. You must be perfect."

Is this what he was missing? Perfection – the high standard of his birth?

And so, taking his father's words to heart, he strove for this … perfection in the hopes it would be the missing piece to make him happy; to find his place. Riding, fencing, manners, academics … in all things he would find a way to be the best – perfect.

This did work for quite a while and to hear "well done" from his father brought him pleasure and gave him incentive to work hard and learn how to govern his family's estate with a controlled sense of fairness.

At ten years old, when his brother was born and he was finally allowed to greet him properly and hold him in his arms, for the first time in his life he felt something fill him up. What filled him up was something emotional and deeply felt … an overwhelming sense of belonging that brought him to tears. In that instant he wondered if here was what he had been missing… purpose and devotion to another – love.

This baby, his brother who reached out his arms and touched his face loved him unconditionally; and so he loved unconditionally in return. With Thomas he did not have to be perfect; walk a certain way; talk a particular way or wear his birthright like a glove. He could just be Olivier.

So for the next twenty years he set about protecting, raising, and giving his life to a boy who in the end would be felled by his weakness; his lack of good judgement; the undiscovered piece he thought was found, but seemed lost again.

His joy stolen by a woman who whispered, "I love you." Whose lies, deeds and murder would forever frame the light missing beneath his rib cage … a piece of him ripped away; now hidden; destroyed … lost.

He was not who Treville needed. He was not a leader of men. A leader must know himself … and there was the rub.

* * *

Time does not stand still and life moves on incrementally bit by bit. And as such Athos did not notice how content he had become; how at ease he was among people; how his sense of humor had blossomed – how his heart had… maybe not healed; but now did not bleed buckets of crimson sorrow. How he could even laugh and smile had crept up on him slowly. After much insistence he could not deny, he had become Treville's second and did not begrudge it.

This was peace. He was happy. Brotherhood had taken a hold of him and he was glad for it. That moment of realization; of clarity had swept by him and he wondered what was the catalyst? Where was the bridge that brought him over from despair to this?

He had not realized that he was whole. Surprisingly he had found himself and did not know it. He did not truly understand it until this very moment, when he might lose it all again.

Moving about in haste, his shoulder screamed at him to stop, to attend to his wound; but he ignored the command and continued on. Searching the area, beneath brush, behind boulders, along the tree line he would not give up on his new found peace.

d'Artagnan was alive out there somewhere.

The sound of pounding hooves garnered his attention and racing toward him on horseback Porthos called out, "I've searched further west, and don't see him anywhere." Hoping down from his horse, he leaned over breathing hard. "How could he have gotten so far away on foot?" Gathering himself, Porthos stood tall. "Aramis has sent me back to tend to you."

Athos saw sorrow in his gaze and turned away. There was no time for recriminations; for doubt … they must find him alive or he would surely perish. Nodding, Athos carried on with his nonsensical search – looking for anything; some sign of which way to follow.

When he had been shot, and fallen amongst the leaves, d'Artagnan's screams had followed him down into unconsciousness. When he clawed himself back to awareness; the sun had shifted and there was Aramis staring down at him placing pressure on his shoulder; steadily wrapping it with cloth – his face grim.

"The bandits have retreated" Aramis informed him. "You are going to be fine with rest. You just need to remain still."

Advice ignored, he sat up and scanned the chaotic scene before him – their camp in disarray, a few men lay dead side by side, Porthos and d'Artagnan nowhere to be seen.

"d'Artagnan has recklessly gone off to chase down the one who shot you. I tried to stop him, but … he would not hear reason. Porthos has gone after him."

Grabbing hold of Aramis he attempted to rise from the ground, but was pushed back to earth. "You cannot ride" Aramis insisted, his voice soft with compassion. Pulling him in close by the collar, Athos nodded and knew the truth of it. He was weak, lightheaded; and would not be able to sit in the saddle. But hours had passed. Where must d'Artagnan be?

Pushing Aramis away he ordered, "Then go now to bring him back", and watched devastated as Aramis nodded curtly, mounted his horse and rode away in haste.

After a while he could not lie inert in the dirt for much longer, so began a senseless search of his surroundings. And to now have Porthos' news had his heart plummeting down into his stomach and made him wonder on d'Artagnan's link to his wellbeing.

Who would he be if something were to happen to him? Would he return to that solitary figure that would drink himself into a stupor? Would he return to that desolate man who Treville worked so hard to bring back to life? Could he even recover from losing the brother that redefined him; gave him purpose, and transformed the inseparables into a family with his infectious love of life and adventure?

Would he be lost indefinitely?

Staring out into the forest an overwhelming dread invaded his heart his sense of self seeping away little by little. Legs buckling he held up a hand to stay Porthos' assistance and leaned heavily against a nearby tree. He could not give into defeat. He could not give into injury. d'Artagnan was alive. He knew this, so closed his eyes and breathed deeply to gather his strength.

And when he opened his eyes, now more than ever determined to mount his own horse and enter the search – there riding languidly into camp was Aramis – his countenance loose; a slight grin on his lips.

Athos' heart fluttered with relief for there following behind Aramis on foot, pushing his bound and bloodied prisoner onward was d'Artagnan … his hair wet with exertion; cheeks flushed red beneath olive tones; his face a mask of weary anger and relief.

Lifting away from the tree's support, Athos moved forward incredulous. Porthos' whoop of laughter filled the wide open spaces, and echoed above the tress. Through his smile, Aramis pronounced, "I have retrieved our missing prodigal", then chuckled and dismounted with a flourish.

Unsteady on his feet, Athos leaned on his sword and found himself instantly engulfed in an earnest embrace; one which kept him from falling unceremoniously to his knees. Leaning into d'Artagnan's hold he held on tight to this lifeline; breathed in his essence then whispered quietly in his ear, "You are found."

Pulling back, his brow creased with consternation, d'Artagnan declared, "I was not lost Athos, only missing for a moment", and gestured toward his captive with pride.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Please leave a review to let me know what you think. I hope you enjoyed! This is an entry for the July/August Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with the theme of "Missing". If you would like to participate in the July/August Challenge, please go to the Musketeers Forum page titled Fete de Mousquetaires to learn more about the rules and how to enter.


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